Potty, Weasel And Family
by Mikado's Ink
Summary: The trials and tribulations of the Potter-Weasley brood as they grow up, learn magic and scheme nefariously in hidden toilets. Hogwarts beware. (19 years later, but with a slight twist.)
1. Chapter 1

It was one of those mornings. The ones which started right, not like the ones which felt like they were being dragged out of you. The air was crisp, and the sun fell just so. Her office was gleaming bright, and everything seemed to buzz warm with magic. The portraits seemed to be content as well.  
And the quiet! Oh, the quiet. She watched, in silent delight, the swirling vapours rising from her cup and closed her eyes to the gentle _thup, thup_ of sugar cubes falling into her tea.

"Forgotten, have you?" A voice sounded wryly from the side.

Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, opened her eyes.

"Forgotten what, Phineas?"

"Two of that Potter lot is coming tomorrow. Twins too, Merlin help us. If that James boy wasn't already enough!"

A moment of pause, as everything hung suspended in a moment of disbelief—

"Already?" Dilys Derwent moaned in distress, "I thought I had time—"

And noise. The portraits came alive, muttering and complaining, exchanging aghast looks. Someone whimpered.

"When will it bloody end—"

"—'d like to submit an application to have my portrait moved down to the dungeons—

"—too many damn Weasleys, and now this—"

"—needs to better fortifications, yes sir, we do—

"Everyone," McGonagall interrupted, closing her eyes again and feeling her good morning slip away from her. Yes. The Potters had robbed her off that too. "Stay calm, please."

"I don't know," a voice sounded cheerfully in the black morning, from the portrait of a man with twinkling blue eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles, "Seems like we're in for quiet an adventure, aren't we?"

Naturally, Severus Snape said something rude in reply and everyone gasped.

##

Albus Severus Potter and his younger twin brother were born exactly seven minutes apart, to completely flabbergasted parents. Imagine their surprise when instead of one particularly fat baby, they had been bestowed with two relatively fit ones. Lucius Malfoy often bemoaned the pestilent gene that was the 'Potter Mop,' something that struck without care and consequence for the Malfoy line. He'd sighed in defeat when his second grandchild, too had been unable to escape it but then had proceeded to give a rather unmanly shriek when he'd spied a second baby coming his way.

"Narcissa, his hair!" He'd gripped his wife's forearm to steady himself as they both gawked down at the surprise baby and the delicate wisps of blonde hair on his pink head.

"Well, I'll be damned," George Weasley whistled next to them, "Looks like the Potter gene isn't so impervious after all."

"It may change, you know," Narcissa warned him, her eyes just as wide.

"I don't care," Lucius croaked. Clearing his throat, he said, "Well? I do believe naming rights belong to us, status quo being what it is."

"Blonde hair, you mean? Is that really—"

And so was Scorpius Lucius Potter named. Magic works in mysterious ways, and naming is a powerful thing. Maybe the very moment that Lucius Malfoy gave him his name, so very different from his siblings, was the moment that little Scorpius' fate was decided.

##

Scorpius, all of seven years old, sat squatting alone in an old patch of dirt behind the Burrow, prodding the ground with a small stick. Head bent, hair covering his face like a curtain, he muttered under his breath, waving the stick around like a wand. Sounds of song and children yelling filtered over to him through the window but he ignored them.

"Go back, go back, go back..."

"Scorp?"

Scorpius looked up to see his father staring down bemusedly at him. He seemed to have stumbled upon Scorpius, on his way to somewhere else, a bottle of Firewhisky in one hand.

"Hey love, why aren't you inside having fun with the others? Uncle Ron is doing his bit, you know.."

Scorpius did not reply. He turned back to his stick, and started drawing circles in the soil again. He heard, rather than saw, his father sit down before him on his haunches, placing the bottle next to him. The yelling inside the house seemed to get louder.

"Ducky, what's wrong?" He felt his father place his big, warm hand on his neck, gripping him gently, pulling his head up.

A storm had been raging inside Scorpius' tiny body since morning and he had carried the burden bravely, not breathing a word about it to anyone, not even Al. The sound of his father's gentle voice calling him 'Ducky,' a nickname reserved only for him, proved to be too much, however, and tears sprung to his eyes, spilling down his cheeks without stopping.

"Daddy," Scorpius cried and daddy promptly gathered up his arms and hugged him. Scorpius hid his face in his father's neck, smelled the pine and smoke that made him feel safer than anywhere else in the world, and tried to breathe without crying.

"Tell me sweetheart. Daddy won't be able to fix it if he doesn't know what it is."

"It's just," Scorpius began, voice muffled into his father's chest, so that it wouldn't sound quite as shameful out loud, "I don't wanna be an omega."

"Ah. I see."

When his dad didn't say anything further, did not reprimand him or scold him, more words spilled from his mouth unbidden, "You're an alpha and James an alpha and now even Al's an alpha, even though he's my twin. It's not fair! I've looked diff from them, and I was okay with that, really, I didn't mind, grandpa says it makes me look dis-dist-disti—"

"Distinguished," His father added helpfully, carding his fingers through Scorpius' hair.

"—Disinguished but Al's my twin, aren't twins supposed to look like each other? Al looks nothing like me! But now the stupid letter says I'm an omega 'n he's an alpha and I think it's not fair, maybe it's wrong. I don't-I don't wanna be anymore different daddy, I wanna be like an actual Potter!"

"Oh, love." His father sighed and hugged him tightly for a moment, before pulling him away and seating him in his lap. "Would you like to hear what I have to say now?"

Scorp nodded hesitantly, eyes on the ground until his dad pulled his head up again with both palms, "Look at me, Duck."

Scorpius met his dad's green eyes, hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses. It was his second favourite thing about his father, next to the scar like a lightning bolt on his forehead. Everyone said his dad was a 'hero' and Scorpius couldn't agree more. His dad was the best.

"If you ask me, you're more like a Potter than anyone else in the family."

Scorpius looked away.

"No, really! Okay I admit, James and Al do look like me a lot but inside? They're all their mom. James' got that sharp wit, and I'm pretty sure it didn't come from me. Did you know he's been talking back to me since he was two years old?"

Scorpius giggled, and shook his head.

"Yeah, don't go getting any ideas. And Albus? He's Draco's son through and through. Half the trouble James causes, Al tricks him into. He looks innocent, but he's shrewd and competitive, and well, when I was seven.."

"And me?" Scorpius' asks eagerly.

"And you, my darling," Harry says gently as he takes Scorpius's tiny hands and places them on his chest, over his heart, "have Lily's heart."

Hope unfurls slowly inside of him, like a blossom. "Grandma?"

"Yes. My mum. Al has her eyes, but you're the one that most reminds me of her. You're patient with your brothers, even when they're getting you in trouble. You're a good influence on them, and gentle. You're just as smart as a Malfoy, but you're not arrogant about it. You're different from the rest of us, because you're the perfect mix of us all."

Scorpius smiles and Harry smiles back. "What do you think?"

"I like it, " Scorpius replies as he lays his head on his father's shoulder. "I like being like grandma."

"I'm so glad, Ducky. And you're forgetting something. Your mom's an omega too. Don't you want to be like your mom? Your brother must be jealous of you, cause you're the only one that looks like him. You're unique, baby."

This remark hammers the last nail into the coffin of Scorpius' fears and he laughs, burden free and a happy child once more. Inside the house, the children voices falter.

"Yeah, cause I'm better than them daddy!"

"Well, uh, okay, I wouldn't put it that way—"

The backdoor slams open and a child voice wails, "SCORP! I'VE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR YOU! WE'RE PLAYING QUIDDITCH AND YOU'RE ON MY TEAM!"

##

"Potter, Scorpius!"

Scorpius clutches his hands together and tries to breath normally. He walks slowly, extra conscious of the long hem of his robe, avoiding the eyes that turn to stare at him. Al had already caused quiet the stir, being the first Potter ever to be sorted into Slytherin. Scorpius just wants to go through it without fainting.

Whispers hound his every step but he ignores them. He already knows what they're saying about him. They're talking about his looks, about his gender, about Al and James, already infamous, and about his parents. It's like they already know all about him, without knowing even a single thing about him.

He climbs the steps and turns to nervously sit on the stool. The light is blinding, and it seems like the entire world is staring at him. For a moment, it is too much, and he lets his hair, shoulder length, one thing he is a bit vain about, fall over his face like a curtain, hiding him.

The Sorting Hat falls over his eyes and there is sweet, sweet relief.

"_Another Potter, eh? Ooh, different but. Academic smarts and persistence, stubborn but loyal, hmm, you're quite the mix but then again, Ravenclaw will suit you best-"_

Scorpius feels a sudden rush of panic and thinks, _I want to be with Al._

_"Ambition is present inside you, yes, yes, but it doesn't seem to be of predominance_-"

_Please_, Scorpius pleads quietly, _I always work best with him._

The Hat sighs, as if resigned but in agreement and the next thing Scorpius knows, it's yelling out loud-

"SLYTHERIN!"

And so it comes to be that not one, but two sons of Harry Potter follow into his footsteps and remember that the Sorting Hat always takes choice into account.

—_ You're different from the rest of us, because you're the perfect mix of us all_—

Scorpius smiles, and steps towards the cheering.


	2. Chapter 2

—and the magical properties of Gillyweed, when studied in comparison to other aquatic herbs can be said to be something on which I'll elaborate...only when James Potter would do us all a kind favor and stop trying to throw himself out of the window."

All faces snapped to the second to last bench in unison and it shall be noticed that none of them looked particularly surprised. James Sirius Potter, newly thirteen years old, was staring intently out of the window, hands and face pressed to the glass pane. He was tall for his age, wore glasses like his father, and was a ghost of Harry Potter come to trouble the halls of Hogwarts for a second time. "Harry was a sweet boy. James? Merlin, don't ask me," was a comment famously attributed to Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, but who continued to deny it when confronted. He was a point of consternation and gossip among students, teachers and even ghosts, who rather favored him. Bloody Baron and Nearly Headless Nick did not agree on many things, but James Potter was not one of them. It was rumored, but not yet proved, that teachers held separate meetings solely focused on James Potter and Fred Weasley, with board headers of "Grades," "Games" and "Peeves" followed by an ominous, "What have they done now?" That both of them were Beaters for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team was perhaps the one things keeping the Hogwarts staff from reverting to something Filch affectionately called, "The good, old days."

James snapped his head back to the front of the classroom, and noticing unwanted attention, quickly arranged himself appropriately, "Yeah, yeah, sorry. Thought I saw something."

"What?" Professor Hector snapped waspishly.

James Potter lolled his head to the other side and grinned lazily at the opposite end of the classroom, "Thought I saw Slytherin losing next week by a hundred points."

"Must be your imagination, Potter," Lorcan Scamander replied, rolling his eyes as the class tittered nervously.

"Potter! I am warning you..."

"No harm done Professor," James nodded and ducked his head. Hector, now distracted, had forgotten his earlier question. All for the better. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted it again.

What in the world was it? It was hovering right at the edge of the front window and it looked like..black grass? James leaned forward, holding the textbook in front of him as a disguise, frowning.

The black grass swayed and then rose, revealing a very human forehead and two human eyes.

James nearly dropped his textbook. Jaw open in amazement, he watched his brother try to peer inside the classroom discreetly. This was the third floor and Al was in his first year. First year! James didn't know whether to laud his guts or rat him out to the teacher. Who knows, maybe he'll fetch much needed points in the bargain. Hector did seem awfully testy lately...

His musings were immediately cut short when Al, on spotting him, held up a sign to the window was facing Hector's back and the rest of the class was focused on their work. Except for one.

James didn't notice. His eyes were wide and all color had left his face. His heart had stopped beating. Some masochist tendency made him meet Lorcan's eyes, who was smirking.

Trying extremely hard to ignore Lorcan miming crying faces at him, James raised his hand.

Professor Hector stopped, and sighed, shoulders drooping in defeat. "What now?"

"Professor, I need to be excused."

They needed to proceed with damage control, now that things had progressed so far. The sign was seared into his brain.

MOM IS HERE.

##

James ran, heedless of people shouting 'hey!" as he pushed them out of the way. The halls became a blur and he skidded around the corner...only to end up almost crashing into Dominique Weasley. James cursed inwardly and tried to circle around her. She was quick though and jerked him back with his collar.

"Watch it!" She barked, eyes flashing, "How many times do I have to yell about running in the corridors..oh it's you."

"Yeah," James sulked, "Do you mind? I'm in a hurry."

"Draco's here."

"You think I don't know that, Mika?" James snapped and couldn't help groaning out loud when he spotted Lucy next to her.

"Someone's in trouble!" Lucy sing-songed, "But I guess that's nothing new."

"Yeah. Great. Why don't you gather everyone, make it a true spectacle," James muttered angrily, "Can I please go now? As you can notice, it's an emergency."

"Don't make me deduct points here," Dominique threatened him, her Head Girl badge almost piercing him in the eye with its flash(Fred speculated that she'd charmed it to make it extra noticeable), but as usual, it was an empty threat. If there was one thing that Dominique Weasley got off on more than lauding her power over others, it was being shamelessly biased in each and everything that concerned her House. James didn't think he'd ever seen her cut Gryffindor points.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I get it, I'm going now," James said hurriedly, shaking off her hold, about to speed walk away when Dominique left him a parting shot, "He was going towards the Headmistress' Office, last I saw."

James paled and walked faster, the sound of Lucy whining at Dominique("—and you're the only omega I know who won't go, please Mika, Ravenclaw holds mixers so rarely—") fading away as he turned right and resumed running.

##

"Do you see him?"

"I seem him," James replied grimly, peering around the corner to where he could distinctly see a mom-shaped figure across the pumpkin patch, talking to Hagrid.

"What is he doing here?" Albus hissed, huddled next to James, "It's not even Halloween yet, I haven't even had the chance to do anything. It has to be about you. He got fifteen letters about you last year. Okay, maybe there was this one time, and I've been known to...'course, it can never be goody two shoes Scorp, who couldn't even be bothered to ditch fifth period Potions—"

"Ughh, shut up will you," James growled, trying hard to remember spells that helped eavesdrop long-distance conversations, "He's moving."

They creeped along the halls, parallel to Draco, and watched as he headed back towards the Main Hall. Students turned to stare as he crossed them, and James couldn't blame them.

Draco was striking. People had always turned to stare at Draco Malfoy before he could remember, with or without alpha. In the afternoon light, with his form-fitting, sweeping midnight blue robe and sharply styled hair, he shone like a beacon. James saw some older boys doubling back to look at him and muttered "tossers" under his breath. He turned back to spy on his mother, only to see him steadily staring back at him.

James froze.

Unable to move, like an accident waiting to happen, James watched Draco's gaze brush over the two of them, hold their eyes very deliberately and mouth, "_Don't you move,_" before turning to walk away.

"Oh, no," Al whispered and James couldn't help but agree.

##

After Draco Malfoy had passed out from Hogwarts, he had imagined many things. He had not been able to foresee however, that nostalgia for school memories could only be inculcated if one did not have children who made trouble so enthusiastically. Why, he might as well be a student, seeing as he was around so frequently.

"Draco." McGonagall greeted him, a neutral expression on his face, as Draco blinked at her around the door anxiously.

Draco sighed and crossed over to collapse in a chair, "What have they done now?"

McGonagall's mouth twitched but her expression remained stern, "I believe some fire incidents, recent monstrous behavior from Peeves, and certain missing books from the Restricted Section can be attributed to one or two of your offspring."

"Merlin, Al," Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, "It's not even Halloween yet."

"But it's not why I called you here."

"It's not?"

McGonagall's expression lightened, "Why, it was regarding business, seeing as you have chosen to replace your father on the board.."

Draco gawped at McGonagall, glanced around the snickering portraits in the room, and realized that in her own way, McGonagall had just made a _joke_.

##

Draco stepped out of McGonagall's Office, and turned to find his two children scrambling to their feet, watching him with tentative expressions. They had been waiting for him, then.

These two. Reflections of a teenage Harry, right down to the nose and the hair and the shape of their jaw, and just as reckless .Gryffindor too, and alpha on top of it (Al's Slytherin grace left a lot to be desired). He didn't know what to do with them. Narcissa remembered Draco as a rather obedient child and shared his incomprehension on his two knuckleheads, running wild in Hogwarts, bursting toilets, of all things.

But he could only blame the Potter genes for so long.

Raising his arms, he grabbed their shoulders and pulled them into a hug. James and Al stiffened in surprise.

"Mom?"

"God, you two," Draco murmured. He'd repressed it, because it didn't serve any purpose, and he had Lily to look after but he realized quiet suddenly that he'd been longing for his children since September. Having them in his arms now, real and healthy and annoying, loosened the knot he had carried in his heart without knowing. "I wonder, when will you find the time to focus on your schoolwork? No, I guess that's too mundane for you."

James and Al winced but Draco only hugged them tighter. Slowly, the tension dropped from their shoulders. Soon, they weren't pranksters extraordinaire or tough Gryffindor or Savvy Slytherin anymore but just two kids who'd been away from their mother for too long. If Al was still clinging by the time Draco let go, head buried in his stomach, James had grace enough not to mention, because it _had_ been only a couple of months and for all his flashy talk, Al was a homesick baby.

Draco couldn't resist dropping a kiss on his head, despite knowing it wasn't much in the way of a punishment, " You're stomach's not hurting anymore, is it baby? You're still taking the potions I'm sending you right, every night after dinner?"

"Yes, mum," Al lied winningly.

Draco hmmed, "Also, don't skip classes."

Al stared up at him aghast, "Scorp told you! That traitor!"

"No honey, that's what you call a clear conscience. He came and met me before class. You two should try it sometime, instead of lurking around me guiltily."

James laughed and was rewarded with a swat to the back of his head, "Ow! Mom! What!"

"Stop antagonizing the Scamander twins James, we've talked about this."

"They usually start it," James grumbles and folds his arms crossly.

"I don't care. I'll let you on a little secret. I have on good authority that Angelina's been toying with the idea of a Howler for quite some time now and she might, on my insistence, slip in a few details including Fred and you...

James stared at him, "Blimey."

Draco nodded sternly. Staring at his anxious face however, Draco suddenly found himself saying, "Tell you what, I know you two haven't had lunch yet so if you can find Scorp for me in ten minutes and meet me near the Entrance Hall, I think we can manage to go down to Hogsmeade for a bite or two."

"Students are not allowed to go to Hogsmeade till third year!"Al cheered in celebration.

James grinned and pointed at him in challenge, "I'll be back in five!" and ran off. Draco shook his head fondly. Running in, running out. When had he ever seen that boy walk calmly? Sleep was probably the only time he was still.

When Scorp spotted him, his face lit up. Draco walked down with the twins holding each hand, James next to him and all three tripping over their sentences in their eagerness to tell him about their escapades. He knew he should be stricter, knew that treating them was definitely not the way to go about it but it _had_ been quite some time and then again, there was always that Howler...


	3. Chapter 3

Harry Potter opened his eyes slowly, and stared at the ceiling. He felt tired, which was nothing unusual, but also a touch annoyed, which he wondered at. Then he remembered.

The children were back home for the holidays. And—

"WAKE UP, OR YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE!" Ah. The distinct, dulcet tones of his eldest. There was a thump, and what seemed like someone practically falling down the stairs.

Harry sighed and began the daily, arduous task of dressing himself. It was the most mundane part of his day and half the time, he wondered why he bothered. None of his staffers cared whether his shoes were properly polished or if his robe sleeves looked properly fresh and even if they did, they certainly did not have the backbone to mention it. Like he always said to Draco, there were—

"—Better things to worry about," Harry muttered at his reflection, which looked like it always did—messy, windswept hair, face drawn with lines and broad shoulders tucked into untidy robes. Before the mirror could say something scathing in reply, he turned to hurry down the stairs.

Madam Bletchley was playing on the radio but was overshadowed by the cacophony of voices. The scents assaulted him at once, like they always did, but the noise made him wince.

"INCOMING!"

"—rush the memos at him so fast, he'll never have the gall to say '_license_' at me again," Hermione was narrating savagely to three different quills, and the parchments floating in the air sizzled as the quills tried to keep up with her. She turned just at the right time to catch the steaming mug of tea rushing her way. Hugo cheered.

"Thanks, Draco," Hermione said distractedly, "No, don't include that in the report, stupid quill—"

"—and practically by the tail, I was on him so fast," James was babbling at Teddy, who was not even pretending to listen, sitting next to the kitchen table, clutching his head. He was moaning slightly but James did not seem to care, detailing all of his fancy Quidditch moves. Andromeda and Draco were behind it, wands waving as food flew across the room.

"POTTER, INCOMING!"

Harry caught the mug zooming his way and took a sip. He took a sip and nearly spat it out, it was so hot, and looked up just in time to notice Draco turn away in satisfaction. Andromeda was smiling. She mouthed "_Potter_?" at him but Harry just shook his head.

"Somebody had a late night," Harry said to Teddy, catching the plate that missed Al's head, snoring away into his porridge, by a couple of inches and promptly settling himself on the last empty seat.

All heads turned to him. Lily stumbled up from where she was sitting cross-legged with Scorpius and Rose, shouted "DADDY!" and promptly bashed herself into his knees. She was five, still in her golden retriever stage, and even though she saw Harry daily, she counted her separation from him in dog years. He tugged at her pigtails playfully.

"'Wotcher Harry," Teddy mumbled blearily, "Sorry, a couple of the guys from work, and you know how alphas are like..."

"Let me guess," Harry mumbled around a mouthful of toast, eyes on Draco, "Towner and Jones."

"Gave me quiet a fright when I walked in this morning," Draco sniped as he sent a plate flying to Rose, pointedly ignoring Harry. "You're lucky I didn't hex you."

"Auror hazing," Andromeda sighed. "I'm not sure I'm fond of it."

"Don't worry Andromeda, it's ritual—"

"—and then I zoomed past on my broom, turned back to say goodbye even, the idiot—"

"Mom!" Scorpius shouted, holding an empty plate above his head, "More, please!"

"Don't feed it all to the cat!" Draco said in warning, "Al! Wake up! Lily, where's your plate?" Al mumbled groggily.

"Filthy half-breeds, besmirching the house of my fathers, "Lily replied cheerfully and the room froze as if one. She opened her mouth to say more, but James quickly put a hand over her mouth. She stared at him in outrage.

It was Andromeda who broke the silence. "Well, it's nice to know Walburga lives on in spirit," She said wryly. Harry and Teddy laughed.

"Don't encourage her!" Hermione whispered at them furiously from the sidelines, "Nooo, don't put that in there—"

"She's been messing around with the portrait, even when we managed to move it to the closet upstairs," Draco sighed and reminded Harry of the long, painful battle they(Harry, Draco, Ron, George, Lucius and Neville) had waged against the portrait of Sirius' mother one summer past. "It fascinates her."

"I'll do something about it," Harry said quietly. Draco did not reply and merely turned his nose up at him. Andromeda and Teddy smirked. James just looked confused.

"—and of course, you've got fourteen appointments lined up today, but do you care? No. I suppose I'll just stage a coup then, and take the job for myself, seeing as how I'm the one sitting here next to two Russian wizards who don't speak a shred of English." Came the quiet, angry voice of Diamond Diggle from the fireplace, followed by his face, which was etched into a dark, foreboding expression.

Secretary to the Minister of Magic, a tiny man with a voice that could make children whimper, and who seemed to have gotten the look of disapproval down to an art. McGonagall would have been proud of him.

("Secretaries are revolutionary, you should get yourself one too, Harry." Hermione had said weakly to him once.

"Do you want my resignation, Hermione?'Cause that's what you will get."

"Oh, shut up.")

"Shit, he's found me," Hermione said hastily and all the parchments seemed to drop. Gathering her stuff and dropping hurried kisses on the top of her children's head, she spoke rapidly, "No Hugo, that's a bad word. Don't repeat that. Now be good, both of you. Tell Dad to feed the owls, he always forgets. Harry, you better come with me."

She turned to argue with Diamond and look for the floo powder at the same time.

"Next to the Veela figurine," Draco added helpfully.

"Thanks Draco, oh yes, now listen here, I told you I was dropping off the kids today—"

"—can't tell you where the Minister is, no, because it seems she can't stick to one place—"

"Filth, insects, dirt who dare to taint this house purity!—"

"_Lily!_"

"Blimey mom, I dunno. Her pronunciation's great—"

Harry got to his feet. Ruffling the kids hair, he kissed Andromeda on the cheek and reached for Draco. Draco was quick and stepped out of the range of his hands just in time. Harry frowned, and without thinking, jumped over the counter. Draco shrieked.

"What, what, what. _What are you doing, Potter_? Are you out of your mind—"

"Stop calling me, Potter," Harry said savagely, now having successfully cornered his omega between the porridge and the scrambled eggs.

Draco's eyes flashed.

There was chaos behind them, absolute cacophony, three children and one adult going absolute nutters but _this_. This had been always been the same, and Harry couldn't see it changing. Waking, sleeping, working, ordering, fighting, yelling—there was an undercurrent in Harry, a thread, a _thing_—that remained fixated on Draco. He was an alpha, he needed to know all points of his awareness, but he might as well have been blind, because Draco's ire rubbed at his insides wrong, and he had been able to focus on nothing else.

"Why?" Draco asked, chin raised in challenge, "It doesn't matter, seeing as you never listen to what I have to say—"

"You've made your displeasure perfectly clear," Harry retorted in irritation, drawing closer, "Since morning you've been—"

"Been what?" Draco interrupted, eyes blazing now. They were a hairbreadth away now, chests almost touching.

Harry kissed him. What else could he have done? He knew no better than this. Automatically, Draco's arms came around his shoulders as if he too, was helpless. It was only a second later than he seemed to remember he was mad at him, and pushed him away, eyes blinking rapidly.

"You arse!" Draco hissed at him and Harry grinned. Slowly, as if from a distance, the sound filtered back in.

"—Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww—"

"I told you to stop doing that! They do this all the time, please knock some sense into them Meda!" James was complaining angrily at Andromeda.

"Really Harry! You don't think like I'd like to spend my morning snogging but I've got a Ministry to run, and an assistant that seems like he's been fashioned from the ashes of evil—"

"I know you know that I can hear you Minister—"

"Ewwwww—"

"So that's how you end up with four children, huh grandma?" Teddy was exchanging grins with Andromeda, who coughed when a scarlet Draco shot her a look, "Good to know."

"I mean, I've just come back from Hogwarts, I'd like some peace and quiet and not to have to see my parents necking every morning, I mean, really who's the teenager here—"

"You sound like a fussy, old codger right now, James—"

"MERLIN'S BEARD" Harry roared and everyone jumped, and thankfully, fell silent. He made sure all of them were watching when he stole another kiss from Draco and grinned at them. "My house, my rules."

"_Dad_!"

"_Ewwww_—"

"Here's another curse in Lily's arsenal—"

"We're not done here, Harry! Ughh, don't strut away from me—No Lily, don't repeat that honey—"

Al was still snoring away.


	4. Chapter 4

"This is bad, right?"

"This is definitely not good, yes."

"This is something we'll have a hard time explaining."

"There's a definite chance that adult persons stand to lose their collective shit if they see us, yeah," Fred agrees and turns to look at James. James stares back.

They grin.

Fred turns back and resumes wrangling the lock on the door with his pin. They were currently on their way to break into Harry's study, and from thereon into his Firewhisky cabinet. They had both agreed that they were ready, and that their seventeenth birthday was altogether too bloody long, and to be asked to wait for three more hellish years (four for James) of not knowing was quite an unreasonable request and moreover, something of a grave injustice in which all parents seemed to sadistically delight themselves with. So they had decided to take the law onto themselves and revolted. It didn't matter that the house was empty and their particular brand of revolution was reserved for no one else's eyes but their own; it was the thought that mattered and knowledge, as they say, is power.

"I can't wait to be drunk!" James says, vibrating with excitement, "Teddy groans about hangovers all the time and says that everything sounds like a Mandrake. Dad says he regrets it every time. Honestly, it sounds like too much fun."

"I intend to start early if I'm ever going to beat Charlie in a drinking contest, "Fred replies solemnly with all the naive ambitions of a fourteen year old, dreams filled with old men passing out drooling and a deafening crowd cheering him on and finally, finally being let on in all that mysterious adult fun. Weasley gatherings would never be the same again. "You're sure about the security, right?"

"Yup. No magical enchantments whatsoever. Mum's worried about Lily getting in and hurting herself. Wrong child to worry about, really."James's grin is absolutely evil. "And Dad and Uncle Ron drink in the afternoon sometimes, so they leave the cabinet unlocked."

"Now, if only this stupid door opens—"

There's a tick and the door falls open, as if on command. They stare for a second, through the gap and into the forbidden world beyond, still. Then they cheer.

"Alright, alright, alright—"

"Shut up and get inside!"

They rush into the study, and shoot straight for the wooden cabinet, feet sure in a way that hints at previous planning and reconnaissance. Never let it be said they came unprepared.

Fred jerks the door open and carefully peruses the shelves farther in, dusty with disuse. Hopefully, they'd find a bottle whose existence Harry would never notice gone.

"That one!"

Fred pulls out the bottle carefully, brows furrowed with concentration. They'd wisely decided on him doing the delicate extraction, because James was as subtle as a dragon in an owlery.

It's wine. It looks old, the label's patchy and it's a bit grimy, but it'll suit their purposes alright. They grin down at their loot, and then back at each other.

"Now, for the sake of all that is sane, let's get out of here—"

"What'chya doin'?"

James lets out a small shriek that he would later deny vehemently and Fred jumps about a foot in the air, fumbling with the bottle until he crashes to his knees, breathing hard, bottle clutched to his chest in fear.

In the doorway stands the manifestation of all their worst nightmares, blinking up innocently at them.

"You." James growls, hands still grasping his chest, eyes narrowed at the three foot high monster currently smiling at him, "You little pest. Wait. till. I. get. my. hands. on. you."

Lily tilts her head curiously, hands curled around the edges of her frock. She turns to look at Fred, at the bottle, and then back to James again. They're frozen in fear. Fred decides that for all the chubby adorableness of a five year old, her expression is not that different from that of an shrewd, old crone.

"Imma tell Mommy," Lilly says tartly, having smelled out their fear and jabbed at it with her beak.

"James, do something!" Fred whispers in panic.

James stumbles after her drunkenly, paws out in desperation. "You devil child," He's still moaning, "Come here, you sneaky, little monster."

"No!" Lilly shouts back.

"I hate this, "Fred groans as he scrambles to his feet, still hugging the bottle.

"What are you even doing here?! You were all supposed to be out—"

"We came back early, idiot. Obviously."

The voice comes an inch from Fred's year and this time, Fred can't control his surprise. He shouts and the bottle slips from his hand, and out of his reach. He watches it fall to the ground as if in slow motion, James on the other side, eyes widening in horror, mouth open to shout as his hands reach uselessly in one last ditch attempt to—

CRASH!

The echoes of the glass breaking is so loud, Fred hears it in his heart. He'll continue to hear it years after, waking or dreaming, and cringe in a visceral reaction to get the memory away from him.

"It stinks!" Lily crinkles her nose, pushing away.

James just crumples to his knees, defeated. He puts his head into his hands, whispering to himself, "Why couldn't you be like a normal house-elf.."

"Uh, excuse-you. You couldn't pay me hundred galleons to clean your sorry room, James Sirius. And not even bonded labour is going to keep me from watching your mother hand your arse back to you."

Fred turns to look at Dimple, 'the house-elf', grinning up at them. Dimple was the seventh member of the Potter family, was as old as Teddy, and had grown up right alongside them. Raised on a mix of Hermione's progressive radicalism, his mother's disapproval of said progressive radicalism, staunch hatred for cooking and even deeper incompetency at care-taking, Dimple was an oddity to be sure. He had asked Harry to free him at age seventeen and had left to travel and explore the world. He had recently returned, and was currently serving as potions-assistant to Draco Malfoy. He would often babysit them when they were kids, and their childhood was rife with the memories of games and rivalry.

He was also a major pain in the arse.

"I'm going to kill you dead," Fred growls and lunges.

"You can try," Dimple replies wryly, dodging Fred expertly. "But even that can't save you now."

"Fred!" James shouts frantically, "Stop losing your head for one bloody moment and think—"

"Too late!" Dimple keeps crooning, grinning widely.

A sudden rush of anger floods him, so intense and hot it makes him want to go out swinging, makes him want to throw Dimple across the room and slam his stupid mouth shut. The tide of hatred is so shocking and out of the blue, he stumbles back and falls against the wall, eyes wide.

Dimple sees it. His smile freezes. All at once, his eyes are flicking over Fred's face, scrutinising.

"Fred, are you—"

"What on earth?"

Draco's surprised voice is razor thin, and slices through the room like a weapon. James winces visibly and then collapses into himself.

"I told you mommy," Lily's self-satisfied voice trails into the room and Fred cursed under his breath.

I hate children, he thinks.

Harry Potter and Narcissa Malfoy peer over Draco's shoulder. Narcissa is trying not to smile but Harry still looks confused. He can hear Uncle Ron walking up behind them, "Hey, whazz going on?"

"Where is Teddy." Draco's voice is still even and its freaking Fred. "He was supposed to be here."

"Probably escaped off with his Victoire," Ron grumbles and sticks his head into the doorway. His expression falls open in surprise.

James' head is hanging near his shoes. Some Gryffindor. Fred will go down with his head held up to his shoulders, at least.

"What—is that—were you guys sneaking in to—"Harry's voice grows progressively louder and then his eyes zoom in on the broken, pungent mess on the floor.

"Is that—my Margaux—DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I PAID FOR THAT?!"


	5. Chapter 5

Freya Longbottom is born with a whisper of magical fatigue in her heart. She is not expected to survive the first day.

I'm sorry, the healer says. She's got her wand in a crushing grip, knuckles white. She won't meet their eyes. There's nothing we can do, she says.

_Her tiny body is too weak, _is what she means. _The magic will eat her alive._

Hannah's eyes are fixed on the cot next to her bed, silent tears streaming down her face. She used to look at Neville, in moments of excitement and grief, her little way of reassuring herself. She's not anymore.

Several people rush to catch his grandmother as she begins to fall. The confidence has been wiped clean from her face, and all that remains is utter horror. She's mouthing to herself silently.

"No," Neville says.

#

The baby is still breathing the next day.

#

Freya is tired of the way people look at her. It's somehow always the same—a cursory glance followed by a hard, long look, lips titled up in an awkward mixture of surprise and sadness.

_Oh, you're still alive?_ It seems to say.

So she hides. Her favourite hiding place in the world is curtains; the soft, satin ones in the drawing room, so she can listen to adult conversations without the long pauses(adults talk easier when she's not around, she's noticed); the coarse, blue ones with the white snowflakes in her parents bedrooms, fists in mouth to keep from giggling as her daddy prowls around the room, threatening to eat her; and the small, transparent ones fluttering next to 's second story window seat, right by the stairs and looking into the magical grounds, so she can peer into the children playing below. She knows she can't play, she gets tired too easily and her mother starts getting the pinched turn to her mouth Freya hates. Her mum watches her like a hawk and always notices when Freya's legs start to tremble, even when she doesn't want her too, even when she hates her for it a little bit.

So Freya stays by the sidelines, eyes following the children around wistfully. She hates the pitying looks, so she chooses a hiding place she can do it from peacefully. She knows she can't play, but she likes to pretend, and as long as she can hear the jokes and follow along with whatever James and Fred an Al want to do next, she lets herself feel normal for a while.

"That's my spot, thief. Move over."

It's Scorp, a book tucked under his armpit. Freya smiles wider and shuffles her toes so that Scorp can sit on the window seat opposite her, head tucked over her knees.

"You remembered to take your potion, right?" Scorp asks as he flops his book open. Freya's smile falls a little but she nods. She has to take eight potions a day, strictly on schedule. It's really important that she take them on time, so much so in fact that all the children had to learn her schedule, in case her mother or an adult couldn't reach her on time. Freya had heard Al complaining about it once.

"Why does she even come here if she's going to be such a drag? She's not exactly a hoot, you know."

"Albus Severus Potter!"

"What's wrong with you?" Scorp had asked her bluntly once to her face as they lay on their stomachs trying to colour a unicorn as it pranced around, avoiding their crayons, while Al and James wrestled over a toy broomstick outside. Rose had been sitting next to them and had gasped, but for some reason, Freya hadn't minded at all.

"They didn't tell you?"

"Mum said you had a weak heart, and that you needed a lot of potions to keep it beating," Rose had chimed in hesitantly, eyes just as curious as Scorp's, "But she didn't explain it properly. They always change the subject."

"It's called magical fatigue." Freya had said knowledgeably, proud to know something the others didn't for once, "It means I have a normal amount of magic but my body doesn't know how to handle it. My magic drains my life-force, so I need to drink a lot of potions to make sure it stays up."

"Your magic eats you," Rose had blurted, and then immediately flushed. Freya had nodded thoughtfully

"Will you die if you don't drink your potion?" Scorpius had asked in a matter-of-fact tone again, and Freya had almost smiled. Nobody said that word around her, a taboo so heavy that it hung around their house like a ghost, and not a friendly ghost either. With the sunlight filtering in through the screen door, the sound of shouting outside and the muffled cursing as Dimple scribbled angrily into his parchment, the word had never felt so flimsy, fear-like feathers blowing into the wind.

"They said I was going to die the moment I was born," Freya had grinned, and couldn't help boasting, "And they said it every year after. I'm six years old now and I'm still not dead, am I? My dad says I'm a fighter, that I've been fighting since my first moment into the world."

"Wow," Rose had said in awe. Scorp had nodded in satisfaction, "Good. I don't want you to die either. I like you."

"Where did you go?" Scorp snaps a finger into her face, and Freya blinks. She smiles and shakes her head.

"Nothing. Just remembering why I love you so much."

Scorp glances at her in surprise and then laughs, "Drunk a little too much potion, have you?"

Freya sticks her cold toes against Scorp's shin in retaliation and is rewarded with a satisfactory yelp.

#

The first time Freya hears music for the first time, she is four. They are at her great granny's big house for a dinner party, a big house in which she lives all alone, and she must feel the spaces too because she keeps inviting them over all the time. Today, there are a lot of people there that Freya doesn't recognize, and she immediately withdraws behind her father's pant leg, hiding her face.

"Oh, is that your daughter?" Some women asks, tone soft and pitying.

"Yes, that the great granddaughter I was telling you about Jolene," Her great granny interrupts loudly, "A sweet child but rather timid, as you can see and frightfully shy. I'm always telling Neville it's doing her no favours, all this over-protectiveness, if she's going to live any semblance of a normal life she needs to be a little more tough—"

"Grandmother," Neville hisses. Daddy and great granny start arguing, _again, _and it's about her as usual, and mommy's trying to calm daddy down and he won't listen and people are looking and Freya _hates _people looking—

So she lets go of Daddy's pant leg, and starts tottering away, avoiding the side-glances and hushed whispers. She's going to sit by the snack table. No, she's going to steal some fruit and sit _under _the snack table, and eat it where no one can look at her.

Until she spies a small lady, sitting by a huge, shiny black instrument that looks like a bear and she's creating magic with it, magic so beautiful it stops her in her tracks.

The magic is _speaking. _It flows around Freya, and says everything that Freya has been feeling, knows everything about her, even the deepest corners of her heart she won't show even to mommy, and spills out her secrets to the world sweetly.

"What kind of magic is this?"

The lady stops playing the black and white keys and looks down at Freya in surprise. "Oh, this isn't magic, love. This is just music. And I'm playing it on the piano."

"Piano." Freya whispers to herself.

Later, when they've hurriedly exited great granny's dinner party and have returned home, Freya asks her mother a question.

"Mum?"

"Yes, darling?" Hannah hums as she brushes through Freya's long, brown hair. It's the only thing about her that's not sick, Freya think sometimes and lets her mother take pleasure in putting up her hair in bows and braids.

"What's magical music sound like?"

Hannah pauses. "What do you mean?"

"I heard muggle music today," Freya whispers, "And it was so pretty, mommy. And if it's that nice for them, then how does magical music sound like?"

It's something Freya can't stop thinking about. It must be like...And she would never even be able to hear, because she was too weak, and she would never be able to go to Hogwarts, and she should just forget it. Great granny said so.

Her mother, to her surprise, laughs.

"There's no difference," She replies smiling, "For muggles and wizards and witches alike, music is the same."

Freya's eyes widen with wonder.

#

Great granny's piano is Freya's most favourite thing in the world. She's not that good at talking, and she stutters sometimes when she meets her, but then she gets to play, and that makes everything alright.

Music is the most magical thing about her, even more magical than the magic inside of her that hates her body and is always trying to kill it. It's the one thing she's good at, and she will suffer all the pain in the world and all her great granny's disappointed sighs in order to get to it.

Sometimes, when she feels lonely, she'll try to write her own music. It's not very good and she hides it from her teacher, but it is hers and hers alone, and in her corner of the world, she smiles and feels happy.

She's playing the piano when the letter comes. She doesn't hear the owl, but she does hear her mother start crying, falling down on the sofa, her hands on her face.

Freya stills. "Mom?"

"Nothing," Hannah wipes at her eyes as fast as she can, trying to smile at her even though her face is screwed up something awful. "It's nothing, nothing at all, why don't you keep playing—

#

—_an omega, an omega Neville__—__first heat__—__kill her!__—_

—_I'm going to call Healer Carla__—__do something__—_

—_hateful magic __—__the heat will burn right through her body__—_

—_SHE'S NOT GOING TO DIE, HANNAH!__—_

—_I wish—blind as you—_

—_won't allow—_

_#_

Freya finds that being an omega means she's ten times more likely to die. Her parents hover even more than usual, and her father always looks tired. She used to love her little village of Hogsmeade, but now she hates it, because it means that she's that much closer to Hogwarts and that much closer to never getting in.

"With her constitution..." The healers are always saying, shaking their heads, glancing at Freya in pity."If she was a beta like you two, it might have been easier but..."

She used to love watching Hagrid shepherd in first-year students from the station but she doesn't anymore. So she hides from her father whenever he wants to take her up to his Herbology gardens, hides from her mother and her bottles of potions and sits in corners and scribbles furiously, trying to write music magical enough to make _her_ magical enough for Hogwarts.

One day, they are at the Potter's house, and Scorp is showing Freya something from his first-year books. Scorp smells clean and safe, very different from the overwhelming loudness of the alphas. She won't present until she's a teenager but over the years, she's started noticing the differences, and she decides she doesn't particularly like alphas. James and Al are annoying, Teddy is big, and Mr. Potter is just plain intimidating. She goes tongue-tied whenever he's around.

She's wondering if she should show Scorp the new page of music she wrote when Al walks in, calling for Scorp.

"Scorp, do you wanna go and look at...oh, you're with the squib."

Freya doesn't know what that means but from the face Scorp's making, it doesn't seem to have a very positive connotation. Is squib a derogatory word for invalid omegas?

"Shut up, Al!"

That night, Freya knocks at her parents' bedroom and apologizes for being a squib. And she's sorry that they have to worry about her so much, and that she might not get into Hogwarts. She's trying to keep tears at bay, but she feels sorry, sorry for herself, but most of all, for her parents, who had to suffer with her, even when it was no one's fault but her and her stupid body's.

Her parents look stunned.

"What brought this on?"

Freya shuffles her feet, blinking her eyes rapidly so her tears won't fall. She apologizes again.

A fierce expression crosses Neville's face, blazing in its intensity, and he takes Freya's face in his palms.

"Never apologize for being who you are, Freya. There's nothing wrong with you. Yes, there's a slight miscommunication between your body and your magic but it'll sort itself out, soon enough, you'll see. You have magic enough for ten people inside you, you're not a squib!"

"But—"

"And even if you were, so what? I was called a squib all my childhood. I don't care if you're a squib or that you can't get into Hogwarts, Freya. I would love you anyway, I would love you still. Our life would be unthinkably horrific without you so don't you ever—I just want you to be healthy, and happy, and maybe let me listen to all the music you've been writing sometime soon."

Freya tries to stop the tears from flowing, but they just won't stop. "I'm sorry daddy—"

Neville is crying a little too now. He knocks his head against lightly against Freya's. "You're my miracle, love. Every second after you survived that first day— why on earth are you apologizing, c'mon now, stop crying—"

"You idiots." Hannah mutters in a watery voice, and hugs them both.

#

_Ms. F. Longbottom_

_The Room by The Willow Tree, Second Floor_

_Ariana's Hollow_

_Hogsmeade_

_#_

"Told you, didn't I, love? You're a fighter, alright."


End file.
